


you say i got a touch so good

by mydickisthealpha



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 03:05:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4730447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydickisthealpha/pseuds/mydickisthealpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wade sits down beside him, holding out his palm and Peter meets it with the hand Wade ungloved before and the pain subsides instantly, only to be replaced with a toe-curling wave of... </p>
<p>...pleasure.</p>
<p>"What the fuck," Peter groans, gripping Wade's hand harshly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you say i got a touch so good

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written a sex pollen fic before, so I'm not sure if I did it right. However, I just had to write it. It kept itching at the back of my brain and so... thusly. Wade's a lot more serious than I intended him to be here, but I guess that's because it's a pretty serious situation, one that he has feelings about. There's very subtle allusions to past sexual abuse, for both Wade and Peter, because, canonically, both have experienced those things. Still, I tried to make everything as consensual as possible, with sex pollen being involved. Hope that's okay!

  
There are many bad sides of being a superhero, as it were. Mostly, Peter thinks, anyways, the injuries part sucks. He's been beaten on more times than he'd ever hoped for in this life... all because of a spider bite. The accelerated healing makes the injuries part a bit easier, but not any less painful. He thought perhaps the injuries would be the worst, but he's been known to be wrong before.

Tonight, he feels like he needs to bump 'supervillains' up into his 'worst part of being a hero' list. Usually, he takes it all in stride, but this particular villain (plant-based?) was a tad too happy to hurt him, but then a tad too happy to back off. In conclusion, very confusing.

He'd whipped vines around like a Bulbasaur on speed, making far too many passes at him. Honestly, now that Peter can think back on it, maybe the villain had been a 50 Shades of Grey type of guy. Nothing wrong with that lifestyle, but Peter's hadn't exactly been dying to try it out with the villain. A couple of harsh whips snapped across his back and on the rear side of his thighs and he'd had enough, using his webs as leverage to land a savage kick to the man's gut.

The man had promptly thrown a homemade plant grenade that plumed a purple gas (or was it powder?) into the air and skedaddled faster than Peter could manage to clear the air.

He's not aching any more than he usually is as he swings about, looking for his villain of the night in hopes that he can just finish this. Peter doesn't exactly want to run into this guy again, with his lewd commentary and his tentacle-pornesque vines making things very uncomfortable for him.

Ten minutes into his search and he lands on a rooftop, feeling overheated, like his suit is too tight and there's no room to breathe. He lifts the bottom of his mask, breath coming out in huffs, as if he's been running for a while. He doesn't usually feel any exertion from swinging, but maybe he was injured a bit more than he initially thought.

"His name is Cuban Pete, he's the king of a rumba beat-- when he plays my marracca I go chick-chicky boom, chick-chicky boom," Peter hears, and he turns to see Wade standing on the other side of the roof, doing a shoulder shimmy. He rolls his eyes underneath his mask, good-naturedly.

"Wade," he says, putting a hand on his hip as the man saunters forward.

"Petey, Petey, Petey," Wade chants, "any chance you haven't eaten tonight? I know this great place called Monterrey's and they have the best chile relleno. We can become _arroz con pollo_. Contigo mi vida me casaré yo."

Peter laughs softly, but everything is starting to feel really weird. He's kinda glad Wade is here, if he's being honest. He knows he can count on Wade if he can't make it home, and they both know each other's identities, so he doesn't have to worry about that either.

"As good as that sounds, I'm kinda feelin' sick," he says, truthfully.

"Huh. I didn't know you could get sick. Can real spiders get sick? Can bugs get sick? Can _Captain America_ get sick? I could feed him soup!" Wade rambles, and then straightens. "I could feed _you_ soup!"

Peter pulls at his suit a few times, trying to get air to circulate through it a little. It's getting hot in here (but taking off all of his clothes isn't an option right now). Everything's starting to feel a little fuzzy, and he blinks a few times, trying to clear his vision.

"C-can you get me out of sight?" Peter asks between heaving breaths, feeling light on his feet. Wade pulls his mask up just past his nose.

"You're really not alright, are you?" He asks, suddenly very serious. Peter shakes his head, and that's a truly awful idea because he pitches forward. Wade catches him in his arms and Peter feels a shock go through his entire frame at the contact, and he's instantly, _vividly_ burning hot.

" _Oh_ ," he says, because it's kind of overwhelming. "Out of sight, out of sight."

He doesn't like being this vulnerable, whatever's happening right now. At least inside he can figure out what's going on and take the appropriate actions.

Wade shifts Peter to one arm, pulls his own mask back down, and yanks off Peter's glove.

"I'm gonna borrow this," he says, pointing to the web shooter cuffed onto his wrist and Peter nods, letting Deadpool clip it onto his own wrist. "So cool."

"Your face is cool," Peter slurs, because he can't think, but he needs to feel real and maybe if words come out of his mouth he'll feel like his soul is still attached to his body.

"Ok, yep, time to go. Not that I'm not loving our chat right now. I don't think anyone's ever called my face cool," Wade says, throwing Peter over his shoulder and lauching them into the air. It's surprisingly smooth-going, even though Wade hasn't used the shooters that much, and Peter watches the ground blur below them. Sweat slips anywhere there's room to underneath his suit, down his still exposed chin to catch at the dip between his collar bones. He presses his face against Wade's back, that strange shock running through him again.

"You're really hot, babe, and I'm not talking appearances. Well, I would be talking appearances, because you are one fine piece of ass, but in this case? Your temperature is rising like an Elvis Presley tune," Wade comments.

They sail through the air for a bit longer, before Wade lands, and Peter doesn't recognize the building.

"Abandoned," Wade says, like he's reading his thoughts. That'd be weird... and unfair-- Wade shouldn't be able to read minds.

"Not reading minds, sweetheart, you're just saying everything out loud. Nothing wrong with that, obviously," Wade says as he gently lays Peter on his back on the cool floor. When he pulls away, Peter groans at the pain that suddenly pulses through his body.

He shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts, because this is not good. He doesn't understand why he's feeling like this, this sudden pain, this cloying heat-- this... like he's having some sort of allergic reaction to his clothing or-- or...

To a plant.

"Holy _shit_ ," Peter breathes, his entire body starting to tremble with the increasing pulse of agony building like waves, "th-that asshole poisoned me."

"Woah, Peter, do you have boxes too? Or are you talking to yourself? I can never really tell the difference."

"That _pokemon looking dickhead_ ," Peter grits through his teeth, "what did he do to me?"

"Sounds a lot like Yellow," Wade says, nodding as if he's agreeing with his own point.

"Wade," Peter breathes, like the air's been punched out of him, and Wade hums in response, seemingly lost in his own world, "this h- _hurts_."

Wade slips his mask off, eyes immediately focusing in on him.

"What can I do?" He asks, and Peter doesn't know, but-- but when Wade touched him before, he seemed to feel better.

"Take off-f your gloves," Peter suggests, and Wade slips them off without hesitation. "Let me s-see."

Wade sits down beside him, holding out his palm and Peter meets it with the hand Wade ungloved before and the pain subsides instantly, only to be replaced with a toe-curling wave of...

...pleasure.

"What the _fuck_ ," Peter groans, gripping Wade's hand harshly. He yanks at his own mask, pulling it off all the way. His cheeks are burning, and more than likely, they're red-- whether that's from what he's experiencing or his reaction just now, he can't say.

"Don't think I'll ever get used to that face," Wade says, and Peter's not sure what to say. Wade's always calling him hot or sexy or beautiful, but he's never really felt that way about himself. Wade's probably more good-looking, mostly in the body department. Peter's always been small, even with muscles-- not even the bite had changed that. Wade's like... built. Big, hard muscles lining every part of his body. A body that could pin him down underneath it, a body that could--

He busies himself with pulling off his other glove as quickly as possible, momentarily letting go of Wade's hand-- burning with new pain-- before grasping it again with both hands this time. Another surge of pleasure skitters down his spine and curls in his groin before spreading down into his legs and he presses his feet against the ground to stifle his urge to arch his back.

He isn't aware of holding his breath until he lets go of it, chest heaving.

"While I do like hand-holding (and long walks on the beach), I'm not sure how this helps. I could do it all day, just don't like it when you're in pain, Petey," Wade says, "Tell me what to do."

Peter's not sure what he can do, except keep touching him, which-- well, he's not sure how to tell Wade what's going on. It's a bit embarrassing. It's not embarrassing because it's Wade, because, well, objectively, he's hot. It's not like Peter's ever thought of... Well, no, that's a lie, he's definitely thought about that. To be fair, he doesn't get laid often?

Peter is still burning hot, and the longer this conversation goes on, the more intolerable it feels. He can't really catch his breath, though having Wade's hands in his helps a bit.

He pushes himself up weakly, Wade aiding him when he's realizes what Peter's doing.

Peter looks in Wade's eyes, sees the confusion and concern there and has a moment of clarity that helps him understand that Wade would do most anything he suggests. It's kind of startling and scary, and his stomach flips a little, but perhaps that's the weird... pollen... working it's... shitty magic. Definitely.

"Can you touch my face?" Peter asks, and Wade hesitates, but nods, lifting one of his hands to caress Peter's cheek with his large, cool palm. Peter closes his eyes and turns his face into that palm, lips parting againt Wade's fingers.

"Hm. I'm sure I've read this in a fanfiction somewhere," Wade says, furrowing his browline as he watches Peter. "What is happening? Am I on Candid Camera?"

"What?" Peter asks breathlessly, caught up in the way Wade's hand is sliding down his face to hold onto his throat, thumb pressing up under his jaw.

"You're right, the fans won't understand. Too 90s. It was all a blur," he murmurs, moving in close and pressing his forehead against Peter's, closing his eyes. "Peter, I can't do this without your permission."

"Do what?" Peter asks, arching his back without much thought, just wanting to get closer.

"You know what," Wade says, and Peter can feel his breath against his lips. He inhales, tasting the heat of it as his mouth hovers centimeters away from Wade's.

Wade presses their open mouths together, and Peter surges forward, climbing into Wade's lap like this is something they normally do. He makes an urgent noise as his stomach muscles tremble, suddenly understanding what he needs with graphic clarity. He breaks away with a gasp, sweat slipping down his forehead and face.

" _Oh_ ," he says, for the second time that night, because, once again, he's overwhelmed. He paws at the back of Wade's suit, puts his forehead back against Wade's and thinks.

He really isn't all that inclined to say no to this. He's not quite sure if that's because of whatever that doucheflake threw on him, or his urgency to have anything fuck him _right now_ , or because objectively, _super_ objectively, Wade has a solid 10/10 bod, he's not sure. What he does know is that he trusts Wade, at least with something as important as this. This situation might be out of his control, but choosing Wade _isn't_.

Sure, they started out with a rocky relationship; Wade was always doing stupid shit-- untrustworthy, friendship-ruining things, but the guy's really been trying and they've built a solid bromance that Peter's pretty proud of. He's really gotten to know not just the outer part of Wade that the merc _wants_ people to focus on, but also some of the more vulnerable, hidden things about him. He's liked what he's seen so far.

Honestly, though? He kinda feels like he's dying when Wade's not touching him. 

"Okay," he says, eyelashes brushing his cheeks as he murmurs.

"Okay, what?" Wade asks, and he's deadly serious, low, rough voice a serious turn on.

"Fuck me," Peter whispers, his face burning.

"This is not how I saw my night going," Wade says, "but I can be your Daddy!"

"Don't call yourself Daddy," Peter groans, catching Wade's lips again before he can say anything else. Pleasure rolls through him as their mouths move in tandem, and he digs his fingers into Wade's back, shifting his hips because his protective cup is driving him insane.

"What about Papi?" Wade says against his lips, grasping Peter's bottom lip between his teeth and pulling, massaging it with his tongue to soothe the bite marks away. "Darth Vader?"

"Shut up, shut up, you'll ruin Star Wars," Peter says, voice catching as Wade presses kisses down the length of his jaw, and down the column of his throat, tonguing at his pulse point to feel his erratic heart beat. He makes an awfully embarrassing, high pitched noise when Wade grips the back of his thighs (which still have welts on them, but the _pleasurepainpleasurepain_ makes him a little happy that they're there right now) and lifts him bodily, carrying him a little farther away from the building's window. If he weren't in such a state, he'd probably commend Wade on his thinking, but mostly he's thinking about how hard he is and how good Wade's hands feel on him.

"M'gonna take off your clothes," Wade murmurs, and Peter can't help but press his thumbs at the sides of that scarred mouth, watching as it opens as if he means to say something and dipping down to slip his own tongue inside before he can. Wade tastes like cumin, and Peter runs his tongue along the jagged edges of his teeth before pulling away to drag his lips down Wade's chin.

"Okay," he answers, his frame wracking with tremors as Wade lays him down again, peeling off his sweat-sticky suit in a way Peter can only describe as tender. The cooler air of the building makes him gasp, his nipples hardening almost painfully as he shivers, goosebumps raising along his skin.

"Sorry," Wade mutters, probably for the cold, and Peter focuses on his face, how his pupils are blown out, how his mouth is parted as he sits back on his heels to take in the sight of Peter on display like this. Peter knows he is harder than he's ever been, knows he's dripping pre-come like he's been hard forever, but Wade's looking at him as if it's kinda hot-- as if he's kinda hot. It makes Peter more than hot.

"You have to-- do something," Peter says, and he'll be ashamed of it later, but he spreads his legs, biting his lip as he looks down at Wade. Wade puts his hands on Peter's knees, sliding them down his inner thighs and then up his outer thighs, hooking his fingers under his knees to pull them even wider. Peter exhales as Wade drags his solid body up his frame, pressure against his dick not quite enough, but just so. He presses his lips against Peter's once, twice, then deepens it, holding Peter's jaw still so can taste his mouth as much as he wants.

Peter moves his hips against the space beside Wade's groin, pulling his mouth away from Wade's to gasp, and Wade drags his nose up beside his, lips never quite leaving his skin. Peter grasps Wade's triceps, feeling the flex of his muscles as Wade pushes up and sits on his knees, his groin pressed against Peter's taint. Peter groans at both the loss of something to grind against and also for the strain of Wade's cock against him. His chest is heaving and he's still sweating (and _burning_ ) and he's going to straight up kiss and then murder that Fern Gully motherfucker when he sees him next.

Wade's large hands slip down the sides of his waist, resting on his hips, and Peter covers his face as he lifts his hips, Wade's clothed dick sliding between his ass cheeks so he can grind on it. He clenches his muscles as he feels it graze his asshole, making a desperate, broken noise at the sweet lilt of fire that prickles all over.

"Shh, shh," Wade soothes, slipping his hand between them instead, pressing a finger against his opening and applying just a little force. "I'm positive I have lube in my belt."

"Y-you would," Peter says, dropping his hands flat against the ground and laughing breathlessly as Wade opens the pack. It's like an endless portal to other dimensions where Wade just keeps all of his shit. He remembers that Wade's pulled weapons the size of his arm outta that thing.

"Preparation is the key to success, baby," Wade says, "and like Baby Spice said, 'put it on, put it on'." Wade flashes the lube and a condom and Peter is just a little embarrassed that he understands the reference. What? The Spice Girls have good shower music.

"I'm gonna finger fuck you first," Wade says, roughly, popping the cap to the lube and coating his middle finger. Peter watches him through heavy lids, really thankful that it's Wade here and not someone else. He's sure the experience would've been horrifying and horrible for everyone involved and though this isn't something he'd want to put anyone else through, he has to admit, he's luckier than most. Wade's treating him real, real nice.

"You okay?" Wade asks, lowly.

"Be better when you touch me," Peter sighs, heat and pain and pleasure ebbing and flowing in his limbs like waves.

"Can do," Wade says, reaching forward and pressing his finger in Peter suddenly, breaching that first ring of muscles and Peter clenches, hands trembling as he rests them on Wade's knees. He's never had a finger in his ass before (that wasn't his) and it's always a weird sensation. He thinks Wade's doing this just to get him psychologically ready for a penis, because he's never had one of those in his ass either, though he's fantasized about it before. But, most likely thanks to the pollen, he's starting to feel good way faster than he normally would.

Wade crooks his finger, trying to stimulate him as much as possible, and Peter squeezes Wade's knees as he looks up at him. Wade's mouth is open, and he's breathing heavily, and Peter wonders what it looks like, his finger disappearing inside of Peter, his insides clinging to it as he pulls it out and pushes in again. Wade's tongue darts out, wetting his lips as Peter moans and sighs when he does it just right.

"Fuck," Wade says after a bit, taking his finger out and grabbing the condom wrapper, ripping it open with his teeth and holding the condom between his lips as he undoes his belt and pushes his spandex down to his knees. He slips the condom on, slicks his cock and leans over Peter, kissing him. "I'm gonna fuck you now."

"Okay," Peter says, snaking his arms around Wade's neck, pulling him in for another kiss. Wade braces his arms on either side of Peter's shoulders, entering him when their tongues meet. Peter's arms tighten around him and Wade inches in slowly, so gently, such a contrast to who he is.

"Sorry, sorry," Wade murmurs against his ear and Peter can only nod, completely overwhelmed at the sensation of having someone inside of him, of completely surrendering where he'd want to be completely in control (because that's when he feels safest). He feels like he can't think with the pleasure of it, all of his muscles tightening minutely as Wade starts moving and any pain recedes. Wade's back muscles shift underneath Peter's hands as he thrusts, and Peter can't help the jagged moans slipping from his mouth with each one.

Wade picks up his pace eventually, and Peter loses himself in how good it feels, their skin brushing, the sounds of panting and skin slapping skin echoing through the abandoned room. He relishes the building pressure in his limbs, the gradual tightening of all his muscles, the sweat dripping down his body, the noises Wade's making above him. Everything feels ten times more intense than normal and he rocks his hips to meet Wade's.

He feels Wade's hand on his dick, and he knows he's making a lot of noise, but he can't help it. Every stroke of Wade's hand, every time his thumb swipes the underside of the head of his cock, every brush of Wade's cock against his stimulated prostrate has moans and high pitched exhales and repeats of Wade's name spilling from his mouth, unbidden. It seems to go on forever, this dance between them, Peter feels crazy with it.

"It's okay," Wade whispers above him, voice strangled as he slows and presses in deeper. He has one hand on Peter's hip, one hand stroking him so good, but his face says he's sorry and tears fall down the sides of Peter's face. He can't speak, because the only thing that would come out is half-sobs anyway, because it's overwhelming and feels like nothing he's ever experienced before.

He claws at Wade's forearms as everything in him begins to tense in earnest, building second-by-second and Wade seems to understand because he rolls his hips just so and jacks him quickly. Peter shakes apart underneath him, climax blinding.

"F- _uck_ ," he hears Wade say as his hips snap forward in a stuttering motion and he groans, shuddering again and again. Peter grabs his face, kissing him suddenly and Wade responds in kind, pulling out of him gently and then covering his body with his own. It's warm and welcome, because his body is sweat-cold and the air of the building is damp and cool, making Peter shiver. He puts his arms around Wade's ribs, simply holding him.

He listens to Wade's breathing come back down, feels his own heart beat finally hit a normal pace.

"You alright, baby boy?"

Peter swallows, not trusting his voice as he nods an affirmative, resting his flushed face against Wade's shoulder.

"Sorry it had to be me," Wade murmurs, and Peter stiffens, pushing at his shoulders. Wade blinks and sits up, straddling his hips.

"It's--" Peter stops, his voice breaking, rasping as he continues, "no, I'm glad it was you. If-- if it was anyone, I'm glad it's you. I'm... sorry if this wasn't--"

Wade gives him an indescernible look, then bends forward, meeting his lips in a soft kiss. Peter returns it, his heart skipping, feeling acceptance in the action. Wade shifts and rolls off of him, thrusting his hips in the air so he can take off the condom and pull his pants back up. He ties the condom, and puts it on the ground. He grabs Peter's suit, rolling back over to hold it up to his face.

"Not that I don't want to see that nubile body _all the time_ , but you're shivering," Wade says, and Peter sits up slowly, muscles aching. He slips his clothes back on in his own time, holding the mask in his hands.

"Some good this did me," he scoffs, and Wade sits in front of him, holding his own mask in his hands.

"How'd you even manage to get hit by the worst trope in the world?" Wade asks and Peter furrows his brows.

"Some strange... plant guy. I haven't seen him before tonight. If I ever run into him again, I'll--"

"I'll take care of him," Wade interrupts and Peter stills.

"I don't want you to kill him!"

"Never said I was going to," Wade grins, "just don't think the pollen will have much effect on me."

"Oh...," Peter lowers his eyes. "Um, well, if it does have effect on you... you can, uh--"

"Peter Parker, are you propositioning me for sex?"

"No! I... I mean, well, you," he blanks, blurting, "you have a solid 10/10 bod... _objectively_."

"Don't objectify me!" Wade squeals, covering his chest with his hands. Peter stares at him for a moment before laughing at the absurdity of this night.

"You also, uhm--" Peter cuts himself off, reddening.

"I'm really good at working a body? I rustle your jimmies?" Wade wiggles the skin above his eyes and Peter huffs.

"S-shut up, forget it--"

"Nah, don't think I will. My wank bank was bare and now there's currency abound!"

Wade pulls his mask on, and Peter suddenly lurches forward, grabbing his arm.

"Please don't leave," he asks, because he doesn't want to be by himself. He doesn't want to face whatever inevitable break-down he has over this alone. He thinks if Wade doesn't make this weird, if he keeps this up, Peter can keep feeling like all of this was his choice and not something forced upon him. He's happy it was Wade, feels like it shifted some things into place for him, but knowing that someone out there could force him into that state at any given moment makes him feel vulnerable in a way he hasn't felt in a long time.

"I won't," Wade says, "I won't."

Peter nods, pulling his mask on and letting Wade help him up. He's sore and aching in some very strange places, but as long as Wade's here with him, he thinks he'll be alright.

 

 

 

 


End file.
